The swansong of the short, eventful chapter tingles in the night air, and your eyes speak more than everyone else. I refuse to count down the days finale; to a departure that paint the picture of releasing ' life ' through ' death '. The fountain evoked a thousand and one thoughts, and the last being you, cradled me to sleep under the dying stars.
Goodnight.
posted by cigarettelove @ 7:25 AM
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